


love is

by sleepywoods



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1445641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepywoods/pseuds/sleepywoods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Flowers are nice, huh? If you’re reborn, be a flower." When Wendy returns to Neverland, she’ll be strong, she’ll be resilient, and she’ll be poisonous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	love is

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t know if it was intentional in the writing (I doubt it), but you know in “And Straight on ‘til Morning,” when Wendy returns from her first night in Neverland? She speaks about the great things about Neverland, about mystical creatures and magic, but doesn’t speak of “him” until it Baelfire asked. I regard that as how a first, disappointing date went. “Well, the food was good. The restaurant was nice, but —”
> 
> The way she spoke of it felt kind of dodgy to me, and she doesn’t even say Peter’s name. This is a story based on that — where Wendy followed her heart and got heartbroken instead. Enjoy.

**i.**

Love is an oxymoron. It can make her feel alive, so strong, like she can take both realms of and without magic into either of her hands and rule by the power of her words and stories alone.

 

Love is an oxymoron because she’s found that it’s conquered her instead. Wendy should have known —

 

The boy corrodes others, because he cannot love.

  
  


**ii.**

“Peter, what is the highest point on Neverland?”

 

“Dead Man’s Peak. Right over there. Doesn’t get much higher than that.” Peter’s gaze flicks over to the peaks, and she spins around to take a look.

 

If Wendy is to live in Neverland forever, and she has decided she’ll have to find a replacement for Big Ben, where the view of the stars will be most beautiful. While the peak does do for height, she doesn’t like the name of it. There’s nothing pretty about the name, and she can only guess of the reason why Peter calls it Dead Man’s Peak.

 

She only meets his eyes with her own when his fingers lightly touch her shoulder.

 

“This is Neverland; anything is possible if you believe, Wendy.”

 

Wendy feels as though her heart is going to burst right out of her chest, cheeks flushing with renewed hope. He’s producing a product from the flap of his top — a tiny vial with what seems to be sand. She takes it, rolling the glass slightly to examine each grain as though there’s a riddle to solve between each grain. Suddenly, she gasps, eyes brightening.

 

“This is fairy dust, isn’t it, Peter? Oh, to be able to touch a vial of my own!” She holds it to her chest, just right over her heart, as though it’ll disappear if she doesn’t keep it close.

 

Pan shakes his head, chuckling lightly. “Not fairy dust, but pixie dust. Given enough belief, even you can fly.” He sounds delighted by the idea — even more so than Wendy. Her eyes follow the movement of his hand, which intertwines with her fingers. Her heart skips a beat and he doesn’t even know it, won’t ever know it.

 

“If you can will it to work, Wendy, we can touch the stars ourselves, nevermind the Peak.” He gestures her deeper into the woods. “Come, I know just the spot for us to test it.”

  
  


**iii.**

Unbeknownst to most around her, and even her mother, Wendy has already scribed how her first kiss will go. And because she possesses a keen sense of storytelling, it will be beautiful and fairytale, like in the plays and books that were also written by someone, somewhere who might have desired their love to have gone that way.

 

Her first kiss will be a work of fiction, and therefore, it will be in no way realistic. 

It will be at night, on a rare, clear night, as though the Lord above had taken an eraser and rid the sky of its clouds. The stars will be so raw, so vivid, that Galileo Galilei himself would roll in his grave enviously, that he’d never been able to witness through his telescope the cosmos with such clarity. The boy will take her to the highest point in London — which is to be Big Ben himself — their feet hanging off the edge of the overhang where their only protection from falling is the thin metal railing.

 

They will not keep her from the feeling she’s already fallen — from the lightness in her stomach but heavy at her heart. She’ll feel so large from being so high above the rest of civilization and so small compared to the sparkling constellations above, all the same, so cold from the night breeze but hot at touch. When she inevitably dares to look into his eyes, she’ll know this is what they call love.

 

She’ll think love is an oxymoron, because it’ll have the power to make her hate its all-consuming curse.

 

He’ll take her by the cheek. She’ll lean into his palm, and he’ll guide her into her first kiss.

 

( _She heard once — that true love can conquer anything, even overcome curses._

_That means the world_.)

  
  


**iv.**

This must be what dying is like, and it’s a shame she won’t be able to live to write about it.

 

Wendy has read about it because it fascinates her — there’s a myth that just seconds before a person dies, they see a light and their life flashes right before them. All their happiest moments will play like a memory theatre would if it exists.

 

Unfortunately, wendy sees nothing of the sort. In fact, all she sees is a light  _fading_  and a heart full of regret. She never got to say goodbye to John and Michael, she never got to apologize to Baelfire for not listening to him, and she never got to kiss her mother a final time.

 

But perhaps the reason why she doesn’t experience the mythical aspects of death because she  _isn’t_ dying.

 

Soon, Wendy finds herself choking on a mouthful of water. She shoots up into a sitting position, coughing the remaining water out of her lungs and mouth, and catches her breath. Looking up, she expects to find Peter’s smiling face, his hand on her back, patting and nursing her.

 

It isn’t Peter. In fact, it’s a girl who she owes her life to.

 

“Thank you,” she says, genuinely grateful. But deep inside, she’s distraught. That was her first kiss.

  
  


**v.**

Her name is Tiger Lily, and Wendy had thought her more warrior than girl.

 

She isn’t a contrast to Peter Pan like Wendy is; in fact, she does note begrudgingly that the two of them compliment eachother quite well. She wields a longbow that wears itself diagonally across her back then swings her supply of bows over one shoulder, given and crafted by Peter himself. He whispers something to her ear, and Wendy can’t make out what they’re saying, but she knows he’s speaking ofher. It’s in their eyes when they glance at where she’s seated, shivering like a wet dog and covered in an old, worn blanket.

 

He probably thinks ill of her now, Wendy thinks. She wasn’t able to get the pixie dust to work, and it ended with her falling straight into waters instead. He hasn’t spoken to her since they got back to camp.

 

And now, Peter leaves — gives them both a last nod before offing. She can feel her heart sink when he does, releasing a breath, her shoulders slump visibly and she tightens the cover around her. How long will she have to suffer this feeling of incompetence?

 

Tiger Lily remains, taking quiet steps toward her. Her raven hair parts right through the middle, braided and decorated in feathers; and without Peter to stand next to her, her skin looks lighter in comparison to the approaching dusk and darkening foliage. She only looks young by appearance and is only a little taller than Wendy herself — in her eyes, Wendy can see, she’s an aged soul —

And she’s utterly graceful.

 

Mostly, she is quiet, keeps to herself and her face betrays no emotion. Wendy can’t even make out what she’s thinking as the girl, who has seated herself behind her, now brushes the twigs and seaweed out of her hair. And the only reason she can surmise Peter had given Wendy to her, is that she’s the only other girl that inhabited the land, and possibly the only other who can help her with the mess she’s made of herself.

 

Wendy can no longer tell if the salt she tastes in her mouth is the seawater and her eyes were red from weariness or the tears she thought she’d shed. She doesn’t know anymore.

 

“It suits you, your name,” Wendy says, if only to take her mind off of Peter and herself. Something’s welled up in her throat, and she has to swallow in order to keep her voice from shaking. “Tiger Lily. It’s very pretty.”

 

“And you are kind, Wendy Darling.”

  
  
It’s the first time Tiger Lily has spoken to her — Wendy isn’t learned in Native American, so she can’t possibly pinpoint what tribe she’d derived from, but her accent is thick and charming; her words pronounced and deliberate. Rufio had told her that she’s the daughter of the Chief, which makes her a princess. She carries herself like one, at the very least. 

Wendy is envious of her.

 

“Thank you,” she replies carefully. Then, Wendy sighs, slumping a little. “I wish I was born a flower, like you.”

 

“Flowers are beautiful, and Neverland is decorated with it. If you wish to be reborn a flower, pray that you will be poisonous,” Tiger Lily says, her voice stern. There isn’t a hitch in what she’s doing as she combs through her hair.

 

Wendy doesn’t understand, tilting her head in attempt to search the girl’s expression. At this proximity, she can see the girl’s face paint — a thick, red stripe drawn from one temple, over her eyes, and to the other temple — is starting to peel from both sweat and wear. “Why would I ever want, let alone pray, to be poisonous?”

 

Carefully, the girl stands, keeping a delicate finger on her shoulder and she steps around and in front of her. Tiger Lily then kneels before Wendy, taking one side of her parted hair over one shoulder and braids.

 

“A beautiful flower is always a target for picking, Wendy Darling.” Wendy doesn’t notice she’s shed a tear, and Tiger Lily brings a hand to thumb it away, still expressionless. “However, when it attributes itself with poison, no one will dare touch it.”

 

Wendy lets out a breath, unable to process what she’s trying to say. Or rather, she gets it, but why the girl would say something like that to her, she still hasn’t grasp it.

 

“Tiger Lilies aren’t deadly,” Wendy points out.

 

And to this, the other girl smiles. Wendy isn’t so much fooled by it the same way Peter’s smile undoubtedly has. As girls, they should be able to understand each other easily. Her eyes says it all — there’s sadness in them. “No, but I am.”

 

Wendy admires how strong she is, how she’s able to keep herself void of emotions. Nothing seems to eat at her the way it’s eating at Wendy. One day, she will have to learn how to do the same.

 

Tiger Lily finishes her braids and stands, taking her bag of supplies and swigging it over her free shoulder. “All better. They will be back soon. I must get going.”

 

“W-wait! I wanted to ask you — is it true that you are the Chief’s daughter?”

 

She blinks at Wendy, adjusting the placement of the bag she carries. “Was. The Chief is no more.”

 

Wendy gasps, both at the implication that her father has passed, and what that means. “Does that not make you the Queen?” she asks, her heart racing.

 

Tiger Lily’s giggle is light and girlish. “That would imply I have a Queendom to rule. Neverland is his.”

 

“I thought that perhaps you may be his, right along with Neverland,” she admits, a bit embarrassed.

 

Shaking her head, Tiger Lily smiles genuinely for the first time. “No. He is only a boy, that Peter Pan, and a devil of one. No girl should trust her heart with a boy; she would better trust it with a man.”

 

—-

 

Little does Wendy know, that is to be the last she sees of Tiger Lily.

  
  


**vi.**

At dawn, he’d woken her and had quietly taken her to the shore where she’d first landed. Throughout the entire walk, the crickets and crying children filled the silence. He doesn’t speak a word to her, but still holds her hand the same way he had several hours away when he’d shown her all of Neverland.

 

The sun paints the horizon with a deep orange, lining it so beautifully she nearly forgets how hurt she is.

 

Peter is quiet as he watches and waits, her hand still in his. Realizing this, she pulls her hand away. Wendy’s had enough of it. So tired of being ignored for reasons she can’t place a finger on — she needs to hear his voice, and if she’d done something wrong, she wants to hear it. This is worse than any treatment.

 

“What think of me, Peter? Please, tell me something that pertains to me.”

 

He doesn’t. He just observes her with great amusement. She can sense that her words does nothing for him, and it only makes her sink further — but Wendy doesn’t want to give up; she can’t.

 

“— Don’t tell me anything about games, about your rules. I don’t want to hear another word about your lost boys and Neverland. Tell me something that pertains to me.”

 

Peter finally relents — at least she thinks. He takes a step forward, towers over her and she has to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. She keeps her free hand over her chest, if only to still it, but she can hear it pounding against her ear, still.

 

“You’re just a girl.”

 

When he shoves her away, the Shadow catches her and started toward the direction she’d flown from. She can’t make out the smirk on his face, but she knows it’s there. Wendy’s already began weeping, knows she is, and she wishes she can’t still hear his voice over her own. That he doesn’t want her, that he’ll take her brothers in her stead.

 

Even when she can no longer see him, that the only sounds she hears is the wind against her eardrums, his voice echoes through her still —

 

_You’re just a girl._

 

Dreamshade isn’t nearly as deadly as the poison in Peter’s voice.

  
  


**vii.**

The scene could have definitely been taken out of the book. Light against her hair, and her sleeping brothers still deep in their sleep. Only Baelfire notices her, and comforts her. Wendy’s heart tight against her chest, and she would have been content never to mention it again, but she had to. He’s coming back.

 

“He let me go, because he didn’t want me. He wanted a boy.”

 

Peter doesn’t want Wendy; he never wanted her.

 

No, Peter just wants to destroy.

  
  
  


**viii (i)**

“Welcome to Neverland,” says a boy, all smiles and grins and entirely too charming for her poor heart to handle.

 

He takes her by the hand and slowly guide her from the Shadow that had brought her here and to the ground. The way her feet sinks into the sand surprises her, and she wiggles her toes, smiles brightly, and brings her attention back to the boy, who she assumes to be the owner of the Shadow that delivered her.

 

“Oh, I am truly in another land, aren’t I! The sky is so bright, and brighter than any London day I remember!” She’s paying more attention to her surrounding than the boy who still keeps her hand in his clutch.

 

“That so?” he asks, laughing lightly. “But my sun pales in comparison to your light.”

 

Blood rushes right to her face, heating her face instantaneously. And it takes her everything not to pull her hand back and hide behind her palms. Instead, she shakes her head, giggling nervously. “Where are my manners,” she mutters, curtsying. “My name is Wendy. Wendy Darling. Oh, wait until John and Michael, and Bae sees this!”

 

He seems to take an interest in that, his brows arching curiously. “And I’m Peter Pan. It’s a pleasure, Wendy. This John, Michael and Bae — are they friends you’ve left behind?”

 

Wendy feels the guilt catching up with her, ducking her head, her smile wavering. “They’re my brothers — well, John and Michael are. We took Baelfire in. I figured there will be opportunities for them to come join me.”

 

“Indeed, there will be, Wendy,” Peter replies. “For now, you’ll have me.”

 

This must be what falling in love is like.

 

Wendy’s smile is so wide, she feels her jaw ache. She feels her heart ache.

 

“I suppose you will suffice, Peter.”

  
  


**ix.**

Love didn’t break curses; it broke her heart.

 

When she returns to Neverland to find Baelfire along with her brothers, she will be strong, she will be resilient, and she’ll be poisonous. That’s what Tiger Lily had taught her.

 

Wendy won’t let herself be broken, she won’t let herself be picked, much less by a boy.

 

She is not broken.

 

( _Not yet._ )


End file.
